And You Can Tell Everybody
by Mist Over Water
Summary: Submissions for the USxUK Summer Camp event over at LiveJournal. USUK fluff ahead.
1. The Spirit of Adventure

**USUK Summer Camp 2012**

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**JUNE 22  
**_The Spirit of Adventure  
_watch?v=OzI5NIwhy1w

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England did not even need to look over the newspaper that he was reading when his lover began to call for him; America had disappeared into the bedroom for about an hour now and England just rolled his eyes at the constant and shrill yelling that were emanating from—presumably—the bed. However, as the yelling intensified, the Brit put the paper down and uncrossed his legs, looking toward the stairs, yelling a frustrated, "America! What do you want!" When there was no response, he sat up straighter in hopes that extra room for his lungs would enable him to speak louder as he shouted, "_America_! For Christ's sake, what do you want!"

When there was just silence in reply, he groaned with annoyance, standing and making his way slowly step by step to the second floor of America's house, muttering in frustration about how true it was that he represented the national stereotype of American's being lazy. He made his way through the hallway and opened the door, preparing himself for seeing the taller, honey blond haired man naked and waiting for him on the bed; and mentally making the speech that he would give him, proclaiming that he was just _not in the mood_ for any type of "good loving". He closed his eyes as he entered the room, "America, can we go one night without it—"

When he opened his eyes, he was not expecting to see the sight before him, to say the least.

"Sup, England? Took ya long enough to get here, dude!" Was America's greeting as he sat in a cardboard box, feet plastered on the ground, with his knees up next to his shoulders. He opened his arms out, in greeting in order to coerce him into joining, "C'mon! Ya've never been to the moon, have ya? Let's go!" He put his hands in fists in front of him, "Cadet England! It's nearly time for blast off, are you in?" He stared ahead of him momentarily, eyes fixed dead on the wall as he awaited the response from his British lover. When there was not even a voice in reply, he turned his head slowly to look at him. "England, ya comin' or not!"

"What are you doing?"

He smirked, looking back to the rest of the box, before looking back to his partner, "I'm going to space with ya, Artie! Hop in!" He waited a little while for a response that he inevitably did not receive, before frowning, "Fuck sake, Artie! You're always stressin' out about work an' stuff! Just chill out and come on over here, man!" England continued to stare, a slight buzz of anger coursing through his veins as he tried to understand exactly how his boyfriend could speak in such a way like it was almost the most normal thing in the world. His own pale hand was grabbed by the tan one and pulled closer to the box. "Look, if ya that pissed off about you not havin' been to space before, we could always do somethin' else? How 'bout a race car? Or… We can pretend to be pirates!"

"Fine."

He let go of Alfred's hand to go and sit behind him, however he put his hands on his waist as he checked the space in which he was expected to be placed, "See, America? This idea is stupid, _where_ exactly do you expect me to sit?"

"Just wrap your legs around my waist!" America looked to England, seeing the caterpillars above his eyes raised, he just groaned, and continued thinking of a way for his idea to work. "Or you could just sit on my feet (America ignored the muttering that sounded suspiciously like England commenting about his weight, and ultimately crushing his feet if they went through with that idea), or I could sit back there, and you could sit on my lap or legs, or even sit between them." Seeing the green eyes light up in interest at the final set of ideas, America scooted back and spread his legs as far as the box would allow, before the Briton sat half way between and on his legs, "Ya ready, cap'n?"

England turned around, grabbing America's chin, and pulling it down to make him look at him in the eye. "That's Captain Kirkland to you, _wanker_." He half-closed his eyes in a seductive manner that he had learnt back in his genuine pirate days, when he had the opportunity of attempting to seduce any person who took his fancy; he kissed the slim lips of the man before him, "Now man the cannons! We have a ship to board!" He turned around, and could not help but smile at the fact that it felt so damn _good_—even pretending—to be a pirate again. Back in his more rambunctious age, when the world was still a mystery, when it was still scary for entirely different reasons than the responsibilities he had been forced to care about nowadays.

The blue carpet of America's bedroom was the seas, and the bed was his soon-to-be vessel.

Meanwhile, the younger nation smirked, watching as much as he could as 'Captain Kirkland' looked around the room with heed, almost as if he _was _getting into this game that he had created upon receiving his new desk chair. However, he knew how his former father-like nation was, and so did not get such hopes that they would be able to spend the rest of the afternoon stuck in a game of 'pirates' (although, he _much_ preferred playing rocket ships, but at least he and England got to spend a good amount of time together). America just shook his head, "Ai'ight, so what we gonna do?"

England turned to look at him again, with a smirk that America felt his breath hitch at the sight of, and told him, "Man the cannons, lad!" America looked around for something to pretend to be a cannon, but when he came across nothing, he looked back to England for some kind of advice, whom rolled his eyes and got out of the box and made his way to the chest of drawers at the foot of the bed. Opening the first drawer, and got an armful of balled up socks and threw them to America. Once he was safely back in his makeshift 'ship', he pointed to the bed, and attempted to move the box with the two of them in with his hands. He groaned when he failed in moving, and glared to the USA, "Get your fat arse off my ship!"

The other man smirked, grabbing the socks and jumping onto the bed, all the while throwing them at the Briton; all the while making sounds that resembled—somewhat—an explosion. He laughed, watching the shorter man shield himself from the oncoming barrage of clothing, attempting to yell something that, knowing his boyfriend, would probably sound suspiciously like "bloody wanker, stop it!". He laughed, continuing until he was out of 'ammunition', at which point he looked to England, whom was standing in the box, and glaring at the honey blond haired man; a pair of socks in his palm, and digging his nails into the fabric. The infamous glare upon his face made America say upon reflex, "Oh no…"

England jumped onto the bed, pushing America down on his back, and straddled over his waist, "You wanna surrender your ship, or shall I take it by force?"

America just smirked, holding the waist just above his own. "Do your worst, Captain."

* * *

**I wish I could say that this wasn't inspired by a true story, alas, when we got our first computer, my brother and I spent more time pushing each other down the stairs in the box for the chair than actually on the computer. Heh. Party like it's 1999! :D **

_Word Count_: 1,261


	2. True Loves Kiss

**USUK Summer Camp**

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**JUNE 23  
**_True Loves Kiss  
_watch?v=kGluHX2QGL8

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**High School AU**

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To say that they were holding each other at an awkward distance would be more of an understatement than a truthful narrative; and so I digress to conclude that whilst the majority of others whom surrounded them rested their heads on chests, shoulders and temples, the two looked directly at each other, smiling awkwardly as they danced around in circles, their feet barely moving lest they trip over one another. Hands resting on hips, brows furrowing in concentration, and teeth biting bottom lips in anxiousness as the majority of eyes traveled through the musky atmosphere and the darkness to the two of them; the jock and heartthrob, Alfred F. Jones, and the attractive nerd, Arthur Kirkland; the only homosexual couple swaying at the end of year dance.

They felt almost like they were on show; a display of Gay. Completely stripped of their names and identity, to only be known as their sexual orientation, where people gawked at their lifestyle, wanted to know everything about their love life, wanted to know how two people from different social classes—from different cliques—ended up in this position. There was nothing to tell, however; as a relationship of two months, they had been moving painfully slow. Alfred mourned the fact that they had not gone past hand holding and hugging yet; sure they had cuddled against one another when one had visited the other and watched films through the night together, but never—_never_—had he been granted the wish to press his lips against the short teenagers.

He stared at them now, where cups of tea had been passing through, and wondered what the bitter drink would taste like on his tongue.

He thought about the questions that he had been asked about their dating status, and even considering their standings of their reputation in school, he had _no _idea how it came to be that he was so damned attracted to such a boy. His friend, Kiku, had once used the word "tsundere" to describe Arthur; where even though he was deeply in love with someone, he would never show it, even in the dead of privacy, the dead of night. That made it hard on the football player, who would never admit to anyone except for his lover, that he enjoyed being touched and touching them. But there was nothing more he enjoyed than a simple chaste kiss, or intertwining tongues—particularly when there was nothing sexual in it, no fighting for dominance. Just ensuring that the two knew that they were deeply, pathetically in love with one another.

In short, Mr Jones was at a loss of a way to show emotion without being permitted to act in such a way. He wanted to bring it up, but with the girls he had been with, he never had to _ask_; it always just happened. Then again, this was his first time with the same sex, so… Maybe, just maybe, the dynamics were different. It confused him slightly, he never knew how homosexual relationships were meant to work—or if there _was _even a certain way of being in such a relationship. Was there supposed to be a more feminine, and a more masculine one? Or was that just the stereotype that was portrayed in bad anime and manga?

Arthur stopped moving in time to the music for a moment, looking down nervously, almost as if trying to concentrate on being somewhere other than the school gymnasium for a moment in time, trying to get rid of all of the eyes on him for any period of time. But he knew that it was either now, or never. He needed to see if the jock had any interest in the relationship that he was so interested in devoting his social life to, and so with the final ounce of courage, he pushed his hands from the taller boys waist, to the bottom of his back, pulled him close, got on his tip-toes, puckered his lips…

And kissed.

It was a bad kiss; Alfred could not help but notice. The lips being too tense, and were barely touching his own with how squashed their noses were together, and the whole virgin feel to it made him smile and blush along with his boyfriend. He could feel the excitement from his own body radiate into the room, and with the muttering that was around them, he could not help but notice the mutterings of excitement making its way throughout the student body. Such an exciting event, it was, for two people of the same sex to share such a fragile emotion in such an open and public place. Just what some places of Alfred's home nation detested, just what the God whom supposedly loved everyone talked down upon. When the two pulled away, Arthur found he could not stop his mouth from speaking, "I'm sorry it took so long, Alfred, or really, _you _should be apologising. I mean, really. If you're not that interested in me, why did you ask me out? Why don't you just break up with me already—?"

Alfred just laughed, pulling him close, allowing his hands to rest against his—annoying flat—backside, earning a yelp of shock, and a few annoyed grumbles, and yet no being pushed away or acts of physical violence, he realised with a grin. "Of course I wanna be with ya! Don' be so stupid!" He briefly ignored the green eyes rolling and the sarcastic comment about look who is calling who stupid, before pulling him into a deeper kiss. The kind that he had dreamed of having with the boy in front of him, but the kind that he wished for nonetheless. Unorthodox in the setting, in which they were watched under what felt like millions of eyes, but as a shy tongue poked at the seam of Arthur's lips, he found himself not caring.

Kissing should never feel magical, that was only for princesses in stories that girls were told when they were younger, but as Arthur lost himself in the embrace that he found warmth and love in, he could not help but notice that his heart hitched in his throat, and made it almost impossible to breath—he would deny the intruding muscle making it a little more difficult for him. Every single cliché that he could think of from Disney movies came to his mind, and the music eventually faded to silence, and in the entire world there was just the two of them. Just them; their peers nowhere to be seen. They would laugh later in their relationship that it was Arthur to pull away with an angry squawk as he felt the American's hand squeeze his arse; he slapped the hand away.

"You never know when to give up do you!"

And in reply, he only melted into another kiss as the two slid into place.

* * *

**These will begin to have a bit of a plot as time goes on, I promise… **

**Alfred as a football player**—In my high school AU's, they are always in England (because I live there, thus have a better understanding of the school system), and so for all you American's reading this (and I'm guessing you are most of my demographic), he's a soccer player.


	3. I See The Light

**USUK Summer Camp**

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**JUNE 24  
**_I See The Light  
_watch?v=H_0Y4aSY1hM

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**Human names and mentions of mpreg  
Heavily inspired by Romeo and Juliet  
**(using modern English)

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_Act 2, Scene 2_

Arthur stood at the balcony of his bedroom, allowing the night air to wrap itself around him in the obscurity of the aged evening, his hands feeling the bumps and imperfections that made up the cement of the railing, stopping him from escaping down to the gardens below and to be able to find some kind of refuge in the safety that was his lovers arms. Safety from what exactly, he could not put his finger on exactly, but safety nonetheless. His fingertips scowled at the feel of hard and cold cement, and yearned for the feeling of hot skin under his touch. "Alfred," He groaned, "Why? Why is it so that we are prohibited from sharing our love, proclaiming it to the world?" He crossed his arms on the banister and rested his head on them, and sighed. "I love you so, Alfred F. Jones. Why must we have been born to the same sex?"

He jumped when he felt a hand on the back of his head, the fingers gently intertwining with the soft hair. Looking up, his heart dropped at the sight of the said man smiling softly; an arm wrapped around the cement as he tried to hold his weight that was not supported from the pieces of wood criss-crossed and overrun with ivy. He pulled himself closer, allowing them to share a soft kiss; a kiss that society scorned and God in his blue chair watched with a vengeful wrath, "And I love you too." Their breaths brushed over the others' face, and warmed them up even just for a moment, in a cold world that was full of fire and brimstone. "You going to let me in?"

"How did you get here?" Arthur asked, allowing his hands to feel over the contours of the man's features; neither knowing whether it was to make sure he was there or to try and memorise the way he looked by look and touch, lest they be separated for their crimes against nature. "How did you get over the fence? How did you find your way here?" The pads of his fingers dug deeper into his skin as his hands tensed with the anger being pumped throughout his veins, "You bloody fool! If they see us together, they will kill us both!"

"With loves light wings did I approach the walls; and the stars themselves aligned themselves to show me the way to you. It's a sign, Artie ("don't call me Artie, you insufferable buffoon!"), the Gods themselves yearn for us to be together, knowing that you're happier courting me and so are trying every possible way they can to ensure that we are married." He grabbed a hand on his face, and kissed it gently, keeping his lips on the pale skin for a moment in an attempt to gain the priveledge of scent. "And they will kill us? My beautiful, perfect, _handsome_, Arthur Kirkland; there is nothing that one hundred of their blades can do that would hurt me more than being forbidden to see you, touch you, _take you_, for even a second longer."

"You're an idiot. Be serious for a second—"

"_Your _idiot."

"Shut up." He grabbed the other hand and attempted to pull him onto the balcony; although, when he finally succeeded, Alfred ended up sitting on the cement that Arthur had hated so long ago. Alfred pulled him close and wrapped his legs around the smaller waist, hugging him tightly. The love that Arthur had supressed for so long appeared all at once. Turning their heads in alternate directions, the same thought ran through their minds, opening their mouths slightly before their faces met and allowed their tongues to meet in the middle to engage in a slow dance to a sad song; lamenting the traditions that meant their love remained a story, that the mathematics that would be considered as simple was wrong. The one and one did not come together make two, but instead remained one. A sad melody; a melancholy tone of reality. Arthur was the one to pull away, hitting his chest, "No! Alfred, dear God, man! Now's not the time!"

"Tomorrow." Alfred jumped from his seating, and held both of his lovers hands, looking down to the slightly smaller man, his smirk turned into the most genuine of all smiles; he looked into his eyes individually, giving them each his undivided attention, before beginning to speak, "Come with me tomorrow! We can run away—oh God! It's so clear! I'll come and get you tomorrow! I'll come and get you and we can go to the Friar!" He kissed the nape of Arthur's neck, and whispered to it almost silently, "We can go to the Friar. He can marry us, and we can run away. Anywhere we want."

"Alfred! This is stupid—"

"But we can go to the apothecary beforehand!" He put both of their hands on his stomach, "I know you'd be way too nervous or whatever to do it yourself, but we can ask him for a potion to allow one of us to get pregnant. I don't mind who!" He chuckled, "Maybe having a little mini-Artie in me would mean that I'd have an excuse to sit back and watch as you do all the housework—Oh! That reminds me! We can get as much money as we can from our parents and friends, run away and buy a small cottage together." He pushed Arthur's chin up, making sure that they were looking at one another, "I would love to have a small piece of you in me, feel it grow… Watch it grow. I'd love to see you father it."

"Alfred—"

"I'll be back tomorrow at eleven. Have everything packed! We can go get wedding rings soon, okay?" He kissed Arthur gently, just imagining their life together as a family—a _normal_ family, some would dub—made his heart swell with anticipation and happiness, but he said nothing, only watching the words sink in to Arthur. Who after a moment, groaned begrudgingly, and nodded in agreement.

It was at that moment, through the darkness of night, and through the scariness of the world, the two managed to see the light that was their future.

* * *

**Just to let you be hint; I'd love you forever if you managed to do some fanart of this. ;)**

_Word_ _Count _- 1,044


	4. A Whole New World

**USUK Summer Camp**

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**JUNE 25  
**_A Whole New World_

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Alternative title:  
**America's Guide to Trolling Your Magic Practicing Boyfriend.**

If there was one thing that America- nay, the world, was interested in to do with England, it was his magic. Whilst, true, other countries claimed to have this, England was the only one to see things that simply were not there, and especially communicate with these apparitions in public (of course, despite the embarrassed nudges from the other nations—in particular America, whom would often nervously look around and mutter, wondering how he managed to begin to date such a "freak". England was well aware of the judgemental looks that were given to him, but he chose to ignore them all, knowing that he could see more than them; the world was a beautiful place through his eyes. Full of colour, full of creatures that tales of long ago said had died out.

That was why one day whilst visiting the small island nation; America approached England from behind, pulling him into a hug, by draping his arms over the smaller shoulders. Kissing the paler mans' cheek, there was no greeting, just a simple: "Could you teach me magic?" England raised his thick eyebrows in surprise, looking him over, but before he could reply, the American was continuing to speak, "Or is it something you're born with? Like Harry Potter? Or can _anyone_ learn? I like that movie… Ah, _damn_, can't remember what it's called. I mean, I think it'd be cool! We could spend time together, and I would know what you see, right!"

England's heart felt like it had become a desperate case of acute porphyria as it swelled in his chest, feeling as though he was falling in love for the taller personification of a land mass all over again—or was that the feeling of a proud parent (although he silently scolded himself for thinking that)? In truth, he had never taught anyone to use magic before, and had simply chalked it down to the fact that maybe they _did _have to be skilled and it was not something that could be taught. And now he had his own _lover_ willing and ready to learn. He could not contain the smile that threatened—and ultimately succeeded—to take over his features. "Okay, we can start with something simple, can't we?"

America for a moment allowed himself to be carried away with excitement and punched the air, proclaiming, "Yes! This is gonna be so awesome!"

And it was that conversation that led to England and America in the basement; both adorned with, what some may classify as, unsettling black cloaks which covered their usual wear; making them blend in the with the darkness that was the room under England's house. America knew from years of playing Japan's horror games and producing the tackiest of scary movies what was to come. More than likely, they were going to do something wrong and in the end have a strange demon chasing them around the house until they moved or died. He shook his head, knowing that he should not be thinking in such a manner, but honestly, he could not help it. The atmosphere and the darkness and just _everything_ led to the assumption that it would either be a supernatural being—maybe an axe murderer!—would kill him that night.

"So we're going to try and get you to see Flying Mint Bunny, okay?" England interrupted the American's thoughts with a jolt; he quickly covered up with a nod and the more sincerest of his nods, because he _definitely _was not scared. Nope. Never. He was a hero. In any case, England ruined the atmosphere built up by petting the air in front of him, "That's right, Flying Mint Bunny! You and America might be able to play soon!" He picked up a tattered book, and quickly looked through it, letting out a "aha!" when he came across the page he was looking for. Giving it to America, he told, "Read this out, this may allow you to use magic, and in turn see this little cutie!" He scratched the air—or behind the visions ears. "Yes you are! You're so cute!"

America took his book, and looked over the words. He was taken aback by the fact that they were not written in English and it took him a moment to read them through, practicing the pronunciation lest he make himself look like a fool in front of his 'better half'. However, any thought went out of his mind as he noticed a smile in front of him that was brimming with anticipation, and so with a shaking voice, he began to speak, "Plane nesi- nescio? Quid hic." He looked to England once more, and repeated, "Plane nescio quid hic."The two waited in silence for a short while, before America let out a loud gasp, and opened his arms out before him, going to embrace the mythical creature before him. "Flying Mint Bunny! You're cute, man!"

England jumped, completely ignoring the other faeries about them who had come to congratulate the taller of the two for his new sight, and pulled his lover into a kiss. "Oh, this is just too good to be true! I love you, Alfred! I thought you were perfect before, but _my God_! I love you more than I ever thought I could, you're just _perfect_, impeccable!" He pushed his lovers cheeks together with both of his hands, and took in the sight of a rather… Interesting looking face, "There's not even words in my language that are capable of describing what you are!"

"Eng—"

"I can't wait! We can all go to the park, we can _all_ enjoy a lovely picnic! Movie nights in!" He pulled everyone in the room together—magical and non-magical—for a group hug, looking at them one by one. "Now I don't have to hide whenever one of you speaks to me during meetings because _America_ can be there to stand up for me and say I'm not crazy! Oh, this is too good to be true!" America watched the volcano of pure molten happiness erupt in front of him; not having the heart to interrupt when that smile looked _so damn cute_… "Oh, and I wonder how awkward you'd be when we make love when they're about—!"

"_Shit_! England! I was kidding!"

"—You're a wanker, you know that?"

* * *

**If anyone can guess what the spell says you win America's jacket :D and yes this is my attempt at humour.  
**

_Word count_—1,057


	5. If I Didn't Have You

**USUK Summer Camp**

* * *

**June 26**  
_If I Didn't Have You  
_watch?v=PfFepOnARFA

* * *

Arthur and Alfred Kirkland-Jones are unable to remember exactly _how _they met, but are able to give it their best shot. They both have a consensus that they met at a party, but that is where there stories begin to become slightly differentiated. Alfred seems to recall that, in true hero fashion, he saved Arthur from talking to someone whom was painfully obviously interested in the smaller man, but had no feelings being returned. Arthur on the other hand nearly cries with laughter as he recalls the accident of the martini glasses that lead to their "unfortunate"(as he dubs it) meeting. In which Alfred fell over his own feet whilst walking with two glasses full of alcohol and covered Arthur with them.

Alfred smiles and looks to his aged lover, a hint of realisation playing about his wrinkled face. To this day, a whole fifty years since they met, he could have sworn he fell in love with just that laugh; not the man, but the laugh that was so rare, and so each time it would appear, he would cradle it like a baby that would break. Nurture the sound to grow into a memory that would last even until nowadays when there was little that the two remembered. Although they do not like to talk about their age, or the problems they have faced in natures cursed plan, they know it is there. An inevitable truth for all sentient beings.

They can never discuss their first date; even when they were younger, when they had been dating for very few years, they could never recall what they did, where they went or what happened. They just remember that the kiss that took place outside the American's house sealed the deal that was their future that still plays out to this day, both nervous, and both going toward each other at the same angle. Bumping heads before throwing a finger to the act and promising to see each other again soon. And they never broke that promise. Date after date, things just kept going wrong. Tripping the waiter at a restaurant, getting drunk enough to spill the darkest secrets in a pub, or bar, depending on whom you were talking to, once or twice while at bowling, they would crush a foot with the ball.

But these imperfections of the perfect relationship are what make Alfred's eyes tear up even now, and he brushes them aside. He knows they are no longer able to do all the things that he wanted, but as they hide in their pair late at night—forever now just holding one another—their eyelids play out their lives like a movie screen. The fights, the drama, the fear, the tears and of course every single smile and laugh and overall good memories that the two had ever had; and forgotten. They always forget they forget. Just as they did bypass the thought that not _everybody _thought the same way about homosexuality as the two of them did.

He talks about those times with a solemn face; when they had to actually _protest _the right to love one another, walking through the streets of London, and at times New York, with banners and yelling catchphrases to gain attention. To gain awareness the love is blind to all factors; they themselves had fallen in love despite their sexes and even their geographical differences, and despite all odds, they found themselves acting more in love than supposedly 'stable' heterosexual couples. Something they scoffed at, particularly as they fought with their hearts and souls in the country of divorce. Eventually, the English government subsided with the secular society, and made it so that they were allowed to marry; and that was where they stayed. Alfred and Arthur smile silently as they fantasize about the day where they were both in white suits, standing in a Georgian hall with their friends and family, making a vow to protect one another even if it meant that they would put their own lives in danger; and at night they celebrated finally being able to spend the rest of their lives together in a way that they wished in a small apartment just outside of London.

Each day Alfred would go to meetings in order to know what his client wanted in his job as a graphic designer, and each day Arthur would wake at six in the morning to commute to the capital of England to write and edit for the newspaper. They were well off to say the least; both in terms of financial security and the love that filled their house to the brim. That was what made them decide to have a baby; their first choice was a surrogate, but as they talked over and over, night after night, there was always one issue that came up; who would be the biological father? Never being able to choose had led them to the choice of adoption.

The first heartbreak would occur just after they had made this drastic decision; where they were denied the access to have a child due to the "unstable family home that they would be providing". They returned home, and stared into the second bedroom that _should _have held their new son, or daughter. Maybe it would have been easier to just find some pregnant teenager who wanted to abort and take their child, but instead, they decided to go on their second cause to protest. And with every molecule in their body, did they fight. Not resting until it was proclaimed that they were allowed to take home their child. Their own daughter, which they named Liberta. Arthur rolls his eyes as Alfred digs out a picture, explaining that the patriotic side of him was missing his own country and so wanted to name her after the one thing that reminded him of home: freedom and liberty.

The young girl looks as if she was made up of the two of them; her hair is the same colour as Arthur's once was, with the annoyingly unmanageable mess that they usually found it in. Her eyesight had gotten bad from a young age, and ended up wearing glasses for the rest of her life. And with a hard sigh, Alfred recalls that he cannot remember the last time an adult Liberta had visited, but makes it known that it is probably due to her having her own family, and wanting to be the best wife she can be. Arthur beams with pride; the hidden maternal instincts that are hidden by a want to be masculine makes his heart swell—Alfred makes a joke about how it probably is and they should get him to the hospital, and the room is laughing again.

They tell how everything in between then and now are in the attic; the photographs, the videos, every single picture that they had been drawn, everything you could imagine a child doing for their parents, the old men have kept. They laugh to themselves, being caught in their own conversation; anyone would have thought they had not seen each other in years for how long they are able to give different interpretations of the same tale. But no one argues. They truly cannot remember a time without the other, and know that they are but one half of a person, and if they did not have each other, then they would never be able to process correctly, or even survive.

While the two talk, no one who hears this story has the heart to tell the truth. Alfred Kirkland-Jones sits alone in his armchair, next to the one in which Arthur used to sit, holding the air like it was the small hand he once loved. Behind him, on the mantelpiece of the fireplace, there sits his husband. Cremated after his death just six months prior to our prying of his life. He sits, blissfully unaware at the laughing at the apparition of his love; of his soul mate. Subconsciously, he counts down the days until they are reunited once more.

* * *

**Is not even sorry. ;)**

_Word count_—1,300


End file.
